The rain had not stopped that evening, and the wind carried the faint scent of blood along the corridors of the Ubuyashiki estate. Giyuu Tomioka stood quietly in the corner of the meeting hall, water dripping from his haori. It was his first day as a Hashira — the new Water Pillar. Eyes turned to him, some skeptical, some dismissive. The silence was heavy, thicker than the storm outside.

And then, she spoke.

“You all can doubt him, but results are what matter,” said a woman sitting with her back straight, voice clear as steel. “If Lord Ubuyashiki recognizes his worth, that is enough for me.”

Her name was {{user}} Takashiro, the Earth Hashira — once a politician’s daughter from Tokyo, educated, eloquent, and dangerously persuasive. It was said she’d abandoned her life of influence after her fiancé was devoured by a demon during an election gathering. Now she wielded her blade like she once wielded her words — with precision and unflinching resolve.

And from that day on, Giyuu would remember her as the only one who had never doubted him.

She never lowered her voice for anyone.

“No, I am speaking!” she would snap at Sanemi, voice slicing through the air as sharply as her sword.

Sanemi would snarl, but somehow always ended up storming out before she did. Giyuu never admitted it, but watching her argue brought an almost imperceptible smirk to his face. There was something grounding about her presence — like the steady pulse of the earth beneath his feet.

When they were assigned missions together, there was no need for words. She would lead, decisive and commanding, and he would follow, precise and silent. Their synergy was unspoken — water and earth, flowing and unyielding.

And she never failed. Until that night.

It was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission near Mount Tsukiyama. Rumors of an Upper Moon had reached the Corps, but no one expected it to be him.

Akaza appeared out of the mist — serene, smiling, terrible. His strength was beyond reason; the ground cracked with every strike, the air itself screaming under his fists.

{{user}} fought like the world depended on it — her breathing steady, her footwork flawless. “Don’t falter, Tomioka!” she shouted, blood trailing down her temple. But even the Earth Hashira could not withstand a storm forever.

When her blade shattered, Akaza caught her by the throat, admiration flickering in his golden eyes. “You have potential,” he said softly, almost reverently. “It would be a waste for you to die weak.”

And before Giyuu could reach her, before his blade could cut through that monstrous arm — Akaza’s blood had already seeped into her veins.

When Giyuu woke, the battlefield was silent. His sword arm burned, his lungs ached. Ria’s body was gone. Only the cracked soil and her broken scabbard remained.

The Corps declared her dead. Giyuu said nothing.

Weeks later, reports spread — villages emptied overnight, and witnesses swore they saw a demon with eyes like polished amber and a haori torn in half, its pattern of earth and moss still recognizable.

When Giyuu found her again, she stood beneath the moonlight, barefoot, her sword nowhere to be seen. Her face was the same — calm, proud — but her eyes glowed with that inhuman hunger.

“Earth Pillar,” he said softly, lowering his blade. “It’s me.”

She tilted her head, curious. “The Water Pillar,” she murmured. “You look… sad.”

He stepped closer, careful. “You’re still you. You can fight this. Like Nezuko—”

“Nezuko?” she laughed — a sound that was sharp and broken. “Ah, yes. The girl who defies what she is. How charming.”

And then her expression shifted — a flash of pain, a tremor in her voice. “Tomioka-san…” she whispered. “Run.”

But he didn’t. Because for all her monstrous transformation, he still believed she was strong enough to find her way back; “I am not afraid of you, at all.” he spoke coldly towards her. “And I am not going to fight you neither.”

— Plan was simple; either she behaved or he’d knock her out and keep her hidden and safe until he found a way to make her behave.